


Bloodied shirt

by sshysmm



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Ficlet, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Mild Blood, Prompt Fill, Sleep Deprivation, Snark, Tumblr Prompt, boys being grumpy, post-Dumbarton, the band Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23051191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm
Summary: It's the middle of the night, they've barely had any sleep on tour, there's been carousing in Dumbarton, and Jerott, Adam and Francis are already back in the van and heading to a club night in Glasgow. Tempers are fraying and Francis seems to have injured himself.Originally posted on tumblr.
Relationships: Adam Blacklock & Francis Crawford of Lymond and Sevigny & Jerott Blyth, Jerott Blyth & Francis Crawford of Lymond and Sevigny
Kudos: 2
Collections: Lymond fics set in the Band/'80s AU





	Bloodied shirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [word_docs_and_willowboughs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/word_docs_and_willowboughs/gifts).



“Is that blood?”

“Is this really the time?”

Jerott scowled at Lymond’s snappish tone. Bundled back into the tour van, their moods reflected the fact that they had achieved barely a scrap of sleep between them since beginning their tour last month. Adam was pale and sickly-looking, and he scratched at his arms until Lymond, uncharacteristically cruel, reached into the back seat and slapped Adam’s hand down. “I think your veins have suffered enough,” he hissed.

Adam glared at him for a long moment and then shifted so that he sat on his hands.

Of Thompson there had been no sign – Jerott supposed he was enjoying his victory over Lymond’s self-control and would spend the following day sleeping away an extravagant amount of sunlight. Richard was apparently gone already, having been both less sleep-deprived and less drunk than any of the others when they had left Lymond and Thompson to their post-set business four hours earlier.

Jerott, finding that his head ached, the van smelled of leaking oil, the taste of cigarettes didn’t appeal at that time of the night – or morning – decided, unsolicited, to share the fruits of his foulness of mood.

“No really, what did Thompson do to you?” he prodded a finger in the direction of Lymond’s chest as he started the engine, and Lymond flinched his shoulder and gave him a look of the utmost disgust.

He wore one of his childish slogan t-shirts, this one emblazoned with the words _Art is Theft_ on a white background. To the side of its low v neck the spots of red stuck out: damp and fresh, above a wound that was new enough to make the shirt stick to it when he moved.

Lymond chewed on a fingernail on his left hand. He had showered and smelled of cheap cleaning products, but it had not done much to rouse him, and the hollows of his eyes were the colour of bruises. As they drove out under the harsh streetlights, Lymond’s face looked like a skull in the corner of Jerott’s vision.

“ _Thompson_ did what he does best, the bastard,” Lymond finally answered, and turned his furious stare on the window while Jerott caught Adam gazing at Lymond with mournful grey eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Discount rate on stolen goods not what it used to be?” Jerott sneered.

Lymond’s response was a mutter, more to himself than to Jerott. “Do you call it stealing when a rat takes the bait in a trap?”


End file.
